


On RWBY Wings V: Armageddon

by sentinel28II



Category: RWBY
Genre: Action/Adventure, Air Force, Air combat, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Combat, Drama, Eventual Romance, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-20 22:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30012108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentinel28II/pseuds/sentinel28II
Summary: It is summer 2001. Four female fighter pilots-Ruby Rose, Yang Xiao Long, Blake Belladonna, and Weiss Schnee-find themselves in a fight for the survival of a devastated world against Salem and her hordes of GRIMM. They've made it to Europe, but now they face threats from without...and within.Welcome to Remnant...with a twist.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Go

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Book V of the "On RWBY Wings" saga! Hard to believe I'm up to season 7 now of canon RWBY. It's been a long, fun road, and I hope to keep it going. For those of you who have read the other stories in this series, welcome back, friends. For those of you new to "RWBY Wings," you can read the other chapters at your leisure, but I made this first chapter a bit talky for that reason. Please drop me a review-we authors love to read those and hear from you (at least I do). Who knows...you might even make it into the story.

**_ON RWBY WINGS V: ARMAGEDDON_ **

**_Part V of “On RWBY Wings”_ **

**_An Alternate Universe RWBY Fanfiction_ **

**_By Sentinel 28II_ **

****

****

_WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE: It is August 2001. Ruby Flight—Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, and Yang Xiao Long—have made their long journey west with Norn Flight (Pyrrha Nikos, Oscar Pine, Lie Ren, and Nora Valkyrie) to Europe. Now officially dubbed the 77 th Tactical Fighter Squadron and reporting directly to General James Ironwood, Ruby and Norn Flights are to help NATO forces defend the Polish frontier from a possible invasion by the GRIMM, led by the enigmatic Salem. _

_But there are other threats besides the GRIMM. The United States’ use of banned orbital weapons during the Battle of Beacon has angered the European Union, who have imposed an embargo on American goods and military reinforcements, at the behest of Jacques Schnee, the head of the powerful Schnee GmbH consortium. While the embargo hurts the economy of both the US and the EU, Ironwood has defied the EU and massed four American divisions in Poland to await the supposed GRIMM offensive he believes is inevitable. Europe is a powder keg, and the only question is who will light the fuse…_

_Poznan-Krezsiny Airbase_

_Poznan, Republic of Poland_

_14 August 2001_

Ruby Rose stared at the ceiling tiles, aimed, and threw a pencil straight into them. It embedded itself in the tile. 

“Are you bored, Ruby?” Penny Polendina asked with concern.

“Does it show?” Ruby replied. With effort, she levered herself out of the bunk, jumped up, and missed the pencil. “Shit.”

“Ruby, language!” Penny admonished.

Ruby tried again and got the pencil. “Penny, you’ve been around fighter pilots for literally your entire life. We cuss a lot. Don’t you get tired of correcting us?”

“Not at all,” Penny smiled. “My father Pietro tells me that bad language is the sign of an uninventive mind.”

Ruby almost told her that Pietro had clearly never been around Taiyang Xiao Long when he stubbed his toe, because her father could be _extremely_ inventive when that happened, but decided against it. Instead, she flopped back onto the bunk. “Just wish the Danish would hurry up and let us know that the C-5 is in their airspace. These missions are boring enough without having to wait around.”

“But they are necessary,” Penny informed her. “Maintaining three divisions of US Army equipment requires spare parts that only the US Air Force’s heavy transports can bring in. And because those transports are very vulnerable to GRIMM attack, we have to escort them in from the embargo line in the North Sea.”

Ruby bit back a retort that she knew damn well what the mission was; they had only been flying them every day for a week, to the point that Ruby didn’t need her Inertial Navigation System to know every mile of the ground between the coast of Denmark and Poznan-Krezsiny Airbase. When Ruby and Norn Flights—now known officially as the 77th Tactical Fighter Squadron—had divided up the various duties required of the new unit, Ruby had enthusiastically volunteered for the escort missions. Fat, slow transports were GRIMM bait, and it seemed the best way to get some combat time—and catch up to her sister Yang, who was leading Ruby Flight in kills. Instead, the escort missions were a crashing bore. The GRIMM had not bothered with the C-5 Galaxies, C-141 Starlifters, or C-17 Globemaster IIIs. Meanwhile, Yang and Blake, who had volunteered for Baltic Sea barrier combat air patrols, were seeing action on a regular basis. Despite coming very close to death on so many occasions she had lost count, Ruby didn’t seem to realize that her sister and friend’s BARCAP missions were a good way to get killed—but then again, Ruby was a young fighter pilot, and death was what happened to other pilots.

Besides, it wasn’t Penny’s fault that she talked the way she did. Penny was a clone, and technically she was only four months old. “It just makes for long… _very_ long…days.”

Penny conceded the point and stared out the window. “At least it’s a beautiful day.” It was: high summer in northern Europe was arguably the best time of the year for a continent where the rest of the year could be dreary. The sky was clear and blue; beyond the base fence were blooming flowers, green grass, and pleasant forest. Penny’s smile became wistful: between her and the fence were the four fighters of the escort force: Ruby’s F-16C Fighting Falcon, Qrow Branwen’s heavily modified F-117A Nighthawk, Clover Ebi’s brand-new F-35A Lightning II, and her own B-1B Lancer—also heavily modified. “I do wish that we were in the air too, Ruby.” There was no answer, and Penny saw Ruby had fallen asleep. She raised her voice. “Ruby!” 

“What?” Ruby opened one eye, and then yawned. “What is it?”

“I just wanted to say that I too am a little bored.” Penny sighed happily. “And to say how excited I am to be working with you in a professional capacity. And as friends.”

Ruby chuckled and sat up. “Me too, Penny.” She shook her head in wonder that she was even speaking with Penny Polendina. She had first met the redhaired girl at Beacon, but then Penny got killed when her experimental B-1 was infected with a virus and began targeting airliners over Chicago. Pyrrha Nikos had been forced to kill her at Penny’s own request. Then, a few months later when Ruby and Norn Flights had arrived over Poland, they had suddenly been supported by another B-1—and found that it was flown by none other than Penny. This was not the same girl, however: both Pennies were clones, experiments of their own by their “father” Pietro Polendina to mass produce pilots. To Pietro—and to Ruby—Penny was more than just a weapons system. She was a dear friend, and the last week had been spent very productively getting to know Penny all over again, and vice-versa. “Speaking of friends…have you been able to make any since, well…you know.”

Penny’s smile faltered. “Not…really. I mean, when Ciel Soliel was killed at Beacon…I never knew her, of course, but I don’t have anyone like her. And General Ironwood says I really don’t have time for friends.” She sighed and looked out the window again. “I feel like I wish I could do the things I have to do and the things I want to do. Is that normal? Is that what real girls do?”

Ruby laughed. “That’s about as normal as it gets, Penny.”

“That’s an interesting philosophical discussion you’re having over there,” Qrow Branwen called out. He was sitting at a table on the other side of the room from the bunk. “It’s a lot better than what’s going on over here.” He stared down at Clover’s full house, then up at the other pilot. 

Clover shrugged. “Hey, told you I was lucky. You’re in to me for 200 bucks right now. Want to call it quits?”

Qrow scowled. “Hell no. Shut up and deal. You’re either cheating or you’re lucky, but either way I’m gonna get you.”

Clover laughed and shuffled the cards, then dealt them. He dropped his voice. “I tell you, that niece of yours is one of a kind. I’ve been working with Penny for the last month, and I’ve never seen her this happy.”

“They all are,” Qrow told him. “Been through a lot together.”

“Sounds like you helped.”

Qrow rolled his eyes. “Nope. I haven’t done squat, really. They did the work.” He wasn’t about to tell Clover that his drinking had nearly killed them all in Turkmenistan. “Once upon a time, I would’ve drank to that.”

Clover dealt the cards. “You shouldn’t do that, you know.”

“I gave that up. Drinking, I mean.” Qrow held up his bottle of water. He’d been dry for almost three weeks now. It hadn’t been easy. There had been times his body had been craving alcohol with an intensity that scared him. He’d caught himself going down to the bar, promising that he would just have one drink, and nothing more. Whenever he did that, he would either divert himself to the gym—where usually someone was there he knew, like Pyrrha or Oscar—or, if things got very bad, he would call Winter. She was good at making sure he didn’t drink a drop, one way or the other. It was getting easier. 

“I meant deflect compliments,” Clover corrected him. He thumbed at Ruby. “Those kids wouldn’t be where they are without you. I read the reports. You’ve had more of an effect on them than you realize.”

Qrow’s reply was lost in the sudden ringing of the alert klaxon. Ruby was off the bunk and out the door before even Penny could react, but she was right behind her friend. Clover and Qrow checked their cards, shook their heads, and ran out after them.

Their aircraft were already fueled and armed. The ground crew swarmed over the aircraft, taking off safety pins on the weapons and the ejection seats, removing the covers from the Sidewinder missiles’ infrared seeker heads, making last postflight checks. One crewman at Penny’s B-1 pressed a button on the converted bomber’s nose gear, immediately switching on the INS, aircraft systems, and engines—a useful leftover from the B-1’s days as a strategic bomber. As they dashed to their aircraft, a Polish major, the commander of the base’s small contingent of F-16s, caught up to Qrow. “Bogies sighted on radar to the north!”

“How many?” Qrow puffed. 

“Just four, but they’re angling on your transport’s track! The C-5 just crossed into Danish airspace.”

“Thanks!” Qrow shouted the information to the others as he turned off to board his F-117. Penny dashed up the ladder into the B-1, while Ruby took her ladder two steps at a time before dropping into the seat. Her crew chief, Master Sergeant Arnold Volgemord, helped her strap in, one foot balanced on the ladder and the other on the canopy rim. Straps, radio connection, oxygen mask connection, G-suit connection, the spurlike devices on her flight suit boots that hooked into the ejection seat, to keep her legs from flailing if she had to eject—all were snapped into place in seconds. Volgemord slapped her helmet, slid down the ladder, and quickly removed it as the canopy dropped down and locked. Ruby quickly switched on the INS, waited a second for it to align, then moved up the throttle to idle as Volgemord’s crew pulled the chocks. Satisfied that the F-16 was clear of all foreign objects, Volgemord guided Ruby out of the revetment with hand signals, stood to one side, and as Ruby drew even with him, snapped her a sharp salute. Ruby returned it with similar sharpness, then rolled onto the taxiway. “Poznan Tower, Ruby Lead, rolling.”

“Roger, Ruby,” the tower controller said crisply. “Winds are out of the north at three knots, temperature is 65 degrees, ceiling unlimited. You are cleared to Runway 24 Right, takeoff at your discretion.” The controller paused in case she needed to break into the conversation. “Bogies are at 35 miles, bearing one-zero-one, course one-seven-nine, angels 20. Negative squawk. Contact Haisla on channel three.”

Ruby checked over her shoulder. Clover was following her, with Qrow and Penny’s hulking B-1 just behind the odd-looking Nighthawk. “Ruby to Ripper Flight, everyone get that? Check in.” Though she was junior to both Clover and Qrow, they rotated flight lead assignments, and today it was hers. They had named their temporary flight Ripper, because no one could come up with anything else from RCQP.

“Clover.”

“Qrow.”

“Penny!”

“Combat takeoff procedure,” Ruby ordered as she swung onto the runway. There was no waiting for everyone to get lined up: it was a scramble. Behind Penny’s B-1, the Polish F-16s were moving as well: there might be only four aircraft on radar, but there might be others coming in below radar coverage. The GRIMM didn’t usually do things like that—subtlety was not in the enemy drones’ programming—but GRIMM weren’t the only threats, and the Poles in particular knew the lesson of not getting caught on the ground. Ruby pushed the throttle to the stops, was pushed back in her seat as her afterburner lit, and _Crescent Rose_ ate up the runway. She was running with a normal load: two AIM-9L Sidewinders on the wingtips, four AIM-120 AMRAAMs under the wings, and a centerline drop tank. She’d keep the latter as long as she could. It made the F-16 a little heavy, and she didn’t rotate the nose upwards until Ruby was two-thirds down the runway. She felt the main gears come free and immediately cycled the gear up, then pulled back on the sidestick and climbed, grabbing altitude, one of the biggest advantages in a dogfight. The altimeter wound steadily, as did the airspeed—the F-16 being one of the few aircraft that could acclerate going straight up—then leveled out at 30,000 feet and turned north. A quick check behind her showed Clover following her, with Qrow and Penny somewhat lower. Of the four of them, only the F-16 wasn’t stealthy.

“Ruby, Clover, call it.”

“Roger.” Ruby didn’t have to think about it. “Penny, you and me are eyeball; Clover, you and Qrow are shooters.” She reached forward and switched on her radar. Whoever the bogies were, they would know now that someone was looking at them. With any luck, they would turn south to engage, rather than try to catch the C-5 over East Germany. However, the bogies’ radar would only detect Ruby and Penny’s radars; they would not “see” Clover or Qrow, allowing the two men to ambush them. 

“Ruby, Penny. I am locked onto four aircraft—aircraft are classified as one Mirage-type aircraft, one Alpha Jet, one Hunter, one Harrier. Negative GRIMM.”

Clover, who had been listening, broke into the conversation. “Penny, Clover. Stay locked, but hold fire. Bogies are the Happy Huntresses.”

Ruby switched her radio frequency to Guard, the one frequency everyone listened to. “Unidentified aircraft south of Koszalin, this is Ripper Lead. Identify yourselves.” Her own radar beeped for her attention, showing that it was now locked onto the lead aircraft. “Identify yourselves or you will be fired upon.”

On the radar, the four aircraft turned south, and Ruby checked the range—25 miles, just within AMRAAM range. Her finger closed on the trigger, but then the radar beeped again as the four bogies switched on their Identification Friend or Foe—and it came back friendly. “Unidentified aircraft, buddy spike.”

“Ripper Lead, this is Huntress Lead. Glad we got your attention. Wonder if we might drop into Poznan for a spot of tea.” 

Ruby relaxed her trigger finger. Huntress Lead was Robyn Hill. Then Ruby cursed, because one, it wasn’t GRIMM, and two, that had been a damned stupid stunt the Happy Huntresses had pulled. It was a good way to get shot down. She decided to defer to Clover. “Ripper Two, Lead. Your call.”

“Ripper Lead, confirm. Break. Huntress Lead, you are cleared to land—ahead of us.”

“Roger that, Ripper Two. See you on the ground.”

It took less than ten minutes to get everyone back on the ground—the Poles had barely gotten a flight up before it was already over. They headed for the Vistula, figuring that if they were up, they might as well go look for trouble. Ruby admired their aggressiveness, but was less than pleased as she radioed Haisla, the Boeing E-3 AWACS orbiting west of Berlin, to assign the escort to someone else. She landed smoothly and taxied back to her revetment, feeling stupid. Ruby shut the engine down and raised the canopy as Volgemord put the ladder back up. “Quick mission,” he remarked to his pilot as he helped her unstrap.

“Yeah, no kidding.” She pulled off her helmet and briefly ran her fingers over the scar of bright metal that marred its ruby red surface. It was a souvenir from Beacon a few months prior, when she’d been forced to bail out of the first _Crescent Rose_ at high speed, banging her helmet on the canopy and giving herself a concussion. She’d been lucky: she had rammed the F-22 Raptor of Cinder Fall at equally high speed. Unfortunately, Cinder had managed to survive as well—after shooting down Pyrrha Nikos and killing Jaune Arc.

Ruby climbed out of her F-16, left her helmet on the canopy rim, and walked over to where Clover was standing. They were quickly joined by Qrow and Penny, and then by the four women of the Happy Huntresses. Clover smiled sardonically. “Robyn Hill. Well, if it isn’t Poland’s hometown hero. Is there a reason why you were on course to intercept a USAF transport?”

Robyn smiled back, with about as much humor. She was tall, with hair so blonde it was nearly white, and piercingly lilac eyes—the same shade as Yang’s, Ruby noticed. She had something of an intense beauty, a woman who asked for no quarter and gave none. “Clover, good to see you.” Her voice had an strange accent: a mixture of British, which reminded Ruby of Ruth Lionheart, and Midwestern, which reminded her of Oscar Pine. She graced Ruby with a look, then Qrow; she nodded to Penny, who she’d apparently met before. “This must be Ruby Rose and Qrow Branwen.” She tucked her helmet under the other arm and held out a hand to Ruby. “I’m Robyn Hill, commander of the Happy Huntresses.” Ruby hesitated, then shook the proferred hand. It was a strong grip. “Before we go into why we decided to show our teeth, allow me to introduce the other three members of my command flight. This is Fiona Thyme, Joanna Greenleaf, and May Marigold.” 

Slightly to Ruby’s surprise, all three stepped forward to shake hands. All wore flight suits that looked worn—well-used, Ruby corrected herself. She’d read a little about the Huntresses: there were probably about twenty of them in total, all women, and all experienced. Fiona was a sheep Faunus with a cute face and easy smile; Joanna was tall, crewcutted, and not cute; May was sort of plain, though she might be prettier if she smiled, Ruby thought, except that she wasn’t. Only Fiona was friendly, and May noticeably refused to shake hands with either Ruby or Qrow, folding her hands across her chest instead. 

“You were saying, Robyn?” Clover asked pleasantly.

“I was hoping to understand why there’s been so many transports coming into Polish airspace lately. It’s been a courtesy to clear it with us, Clover,” Robyn said. “We _are_ one-third of the Polish air defense network.”

Clover nodded. “True, but General Ironwood didn’t think that we needed to tell you. It’s routine, Robyn. Since the 3rd Infantry Division went back to the United States, the EU has loosened the embargo to allow supply aircraft to land. You’re welcome to stay and inspect the cargo when that C-5 gets here, but all you’re going to find is spare parts and personnel.” He put his hands behind his back. “I get that the Poles look up to you, Robyn, and you’re a damn fine combat leader. But we don’t exactly have to notify you when we’re doing something completely standard operating procedure.” Clover’s smile widened, which had a tendency to make people notice, especially women: he had a very winning grin.

It didn’t work on Robyn. She blew out a breath. “All right, Clover, I was hoping you’d be straight with me, but I guess not. The mine at Belchanow. What did you find there?”

“Nothing. There were GRIMM in the area; we eliminated them. End of story.”

“Bullshit,” Robyn snapped. “There were US Army troops all over that mine after the GRIMM were eliminated, and now the Army’s garrisoning it. And something was taken _out_ of the mine.”

“You’ve been watching it,” Clover said.

“Not me; the locals, who told me.” She poked Clover in the chest. “Poland deserves to know what you found in that mine. That’s why we got your attention today, since Ironwood doesn’t seem to understand anything else. It doesn’t have to be difficult, Clover. Just tell me.”

Clover shrugged. “All right. One of the locals, like the ones you mentioned, informed us that there was an old Soviet ICBM left in the mine, when the Russians retreated after the nukes flew in ’62. We sent in a NEST team just in case. The missile was dismantled and we took it out for destruction. There was no warhead.” He spread his hands. “And that’s it. Ironwood’s probably going to have my ass for telling you _that_ much. But you’re welcome to go into the mine itself if you think I’m lying.”

“So why are they still there?” Robyn demanded.

“You’re the ones always saying Poland is being neglected, and now you’re griping that the US Army is actually moving up to the Vistula?” Clover countered.

She was silent for a moment, then looked at Ruby and Qrow. “How about you there, Pipsqueak? Or you, Five O’Clock Shadow? Either of you got anything to say?”

Ruby wasn’t as good as Weiss at freezing stares, but she tried. “Only that you’re going to tell your mom that a pipsqueak whipped your ass.” Ruby knew she was short, one inch above the minimum required for a fighter pilot; she didn’t like to be reminded of it. 

Robyn’s eyebrows rose, and May took a step forward. The Huntress commander raised a hand. “Easy. No reason to throw hands.”

“Look,” Qrow growled, “we’re here to _help_ Poland.”

“And as a potential EU Councilwoman, you should probably focus on getting elected instead of harassing us,” Clover added. “Now it’s time that you got back to Swidwin, Robyn, unless you’re hanging around for the C-5.”

“I think you’ve misjudged the situation,” Robyn told him. “You’re guests here in Poland, Clover. I want to be kept in the loop of what’s going on, and you finding a ICBM isn’t routine.”

“Then talk to General Ironwood,” Clover replied. “Don’t go making runs at our transports. You were a second or two from Ruby or Penny lighting you up. And we don’t want that, either of us.” He inclined his head towards the B-1. “And you ladies _know_ what that monster can do. All of you are hot pilots, no question, but I’d hate to be on the wrong end of two dozen AMRAAMs.”

Robyn was silent for a moment, but then gave a slow nod. “All right, Clover. I’ll talk to Ironwood. Let’s go, Huntresses.”

She turned to go, but as she did, Clover spoke up. “Robyn.” She looked at him. “Good luck with the election. Seriously.”

Robyn gave him a nod, then kept walking—for about four more paces, until she heard someone coming up behind her. May intercepted Ruby before she got close. “Whoa, whoa,” Ruby said, putting up her hands. “I just wanted to look at your aircraft up close.”

“Why?” May demanded suspiciously.

“Uh…I like airplanes?” Ruby’s curiosity had overwhelmed her distrust of Robyn.

Robyn laughed. “Oh hell, why not? Sure. Fiona, escort Pip—“ She caught herself, and bowed slightly to Ruby. “Escort Captain Rose to our aircraft.”

“Sure thing.” Fiona led Ruby out of the revetments and across to the transient tarmac, where the Huntresses’ four aircraft were parked. May winced as Ruby started screaming in happiness at the sight of a Israel Aircraft Industries Kfir C.7, a Dassault/Dornier Alpha Jet E, a Hawker Hunter FGA.9, and a British Aerospace Harrier GR.7—as Ruby announced in full, including the manufacturers, on seeing them. 

“Great,” Joanna groaned. “A bigger airplane nut than Fiona.” She glanced at Robyn. “What now? You believe him?”

“Clover?” Robyn nodded. “Yeah, I do. It jibes with what our people at Belchanow said. He’s not telling us everything, but he told us enough. But that’s not the only reason we landed.” She pointed beyond the Huntresses’ aircraft, to a C-130 parked in a hangar, festooned with antennas. “I want to know why there’s a Commando Solo EC-130 here, and what Ironwood’s going to do with it. The GRIMM don’t watch TV.”

“I’m on it,” May said—or tried to. Her voice was drowned out, and all three ducked as a yellow-nosed fighter came out of nowhere, roared over the runways at fifty feet, climbed, and went into a victory roll. “What the hell is _that?”_

“Oh _wow!”_ Fiona yelled from down the tarmac. “A McDonnell Douglas/Northrop Grumman YF-23A Black Widow II!”

_Berlin-Tegel International Airport_

_Berlin, Federal Republic of Germany_

_15 August 2001_

Pyrrha Nikos poured herself a mug of steaming coffee, smelled it, and gave a beatific sigh. It was 0600, and she needed the coffee. She carefully balanced as she walked to her seat in the newly-minted 77th TFS ready room, but before she could sit, she noticed Marrow Amin staring up at her. His blue eyes were wide and begging, and his tail waggled furiously. Pyrrha groaned and handed him the mug. “Sure, have it,” she sighed, and went back for another cup. Marrow thanked her with another puppy look, and began sipping the hot liquid. “That’s good stuff.” He turned in his seat to Yang and Blake, who sat behind him. “Hey, about yesterday…you two ever think about branching out a little? You know, fly wing with someone else? Your styles don’t really mesh—“

Blake frowned. “What are you talking about? Yang and I have been flying with each other since Beacon.” Then she nearly yelped when Yang crushed her into a hug. 

“Blake is _my_ BFF!” Yang yelled at Marrow. “You stay away!” She rubbed her cheek against Blake’s. “I wuv her so very much! Mmmm.” She kissed Blake’s cheek; the Faunus girl just rolled her eyes, though she was clearly fighting a smile.

“Uh…okay…” Marrow went back to his coffee, and saw Weiss Schnee sit down next to him, with her own steaming mug. “Oh, hey, Weiss—“

“Get bent,” Weiss said and leaned back in her chair. 

Clover walked in front of the gathered pilots. “Well, now that Marrow has struck out three times, I think it’s time to start the morning brief.” He nodded to Pyrrha as she sat on the other side of Marrow; his tail began to wag again at the prospect of being stuck between two beautiful women. Yang reached forward to yank Marrow’s tail, but Blake slapped her hand away. “Elm, Nora, if you don’t mind…” The two ladies left off their description of a battle and took their seats. 

Clover checked off everyone in the room. Though technically his own Ace Flight was not a part of the new 77th TFS, they attended the same briefs and worked together. Qrow Branwen was the squadron commander, if reluctantly, while Ruby and Pyrrha commanded the two squadron flights. “All right. Good morning everyone. Let’s go over the day’s schedule. First some good news for Ruby. I talked to the general last night, and he agrees that, with the lack of GRIMM intercepts of our transport flights, that you’re no longer needed on escort duty. Feel free to go out on BARCAP with Yang, Blake and Marrow today.”

Ruby shot both hands into the air. “Woo-hoo!”

“And speaking of BARCAP,” Clover continued, “congrats to Yang, Blake and Marrow for their kills yesterday. Good work, you three.”

Yang gently nudged Weiss’ chair with her boot. “As official squadron scorekeeper, Weissy, what’s that put us up to now?”

Weiss sipped her coffee. “Blake is at 19, I’m at 20, and Yang leads Ruby Flight with 23½ kills.” She looked sidelong and smugly at Ruby. “And Ruby is sitting nicely, but lastly, with 18 victories.”

“Dammit,” Ruby grumped. 

“I’ve got seven,” Marrow said helpfully, but Ruby only glared at him.

“Shut up, FNG,” Harriet Bree said from behind Blake and Yang.

“You shut up!” Marrow shot back. “You’ve only got 14!”

“That’s double what you have,” Harriet cackled.

“Children…” Clover got them back on track, with a warning glance at Harriet. She liked to haze Marrow, who was the newest member of Ace Flight, but she occasionally took it too far. The last thing Marrow needed was to get what fighter pilots called buck fever—having such a desire to gain aerial victories that they would take unnecessary chances. He hoped Ruby, who was the youngest person in the room, at least had better sense. “Okay. BARCAP’s top priority is still the Vistula Barrier. Robyn Hill’s already pissed; let’s not give her any more reasons. In fact, we’re going to push our BARCAP further south, between old Warsaw and Krakow. Her Huntresses will cover Gdansk and Gdynia. The Poles will cover Gdynia to Warsaw. Should be plenty to go around. We’ll stage from Poznan as usual.” All three flights had been commuting from Berlin-Tegel to Poznan; space was at a premium at the forward base, and there was a lot more room at Tegel. The accomodations were also a little more pleasant; Ruby and Norn Flights had moved into a newly opened hotel a block from the airport. “That puts me, Qrow, Penny, Yang, Blake, Ruby, Marrow, and Harriet on BARCAP today.

“Moving on to item two,” Clover said. “We’re still facing a ground threat, with Centinels and Sabyrs trying to cross the river near Tarnow. Vine, Elm and Nora, you’re going to stay on close air support—the Army loves what you’re doing. Ren, are you okay with flying top cover for our CAS, or you want to fly BARCAP?”

“I’m fine,” Ren said laconically. Nora elbowed him and grinned, which faded a little when he didn’t return the grin.

“Item three. Pyrrha, are you sure you’re okay with handling public relations?”

Pyrrha nodded. “It’s actually quite lovely. I was in Cologne yesterday…what a charming town.”

“And how many marriage proposals did you get _this_ time?” Nora asked.

The Greek girl blushed. “The usual…five of them. One of them even gave me homemade gyros.” Everyone laughed. Ironwood had reluctantly ordered that someone from the 77th go out on public relations around western Europe; Ironwood needed all the help he could get. They had all been surprised when Pyrrha had volunteered, but in retrospect, realized they shouldn’t have been: Pyrrha, after her heroics at Crete, was a household name in Greece and well known elsewhere. The combination of her outgoing personality and natural beauty—plus the fact that she was flying the only F-22 Raptor in Europe—made her a natural fit for the role. Ruby had wondered how she would handle going back into the limelight: after Jaune’s death, Pyrrha had been possessed with something of a death wish, and certainly a raging determination to kill everything in her path. Since seeing Jaune Arc’s memorial in Algiers, however, a welcome change had come over Pyrrha. She was more relaxed, less angry, and smiled a lot more. It was more than just her coming to terms with her former lover’s death, however.

Yang echoed Ruby’s thoughts. “And it gives Pyrrha more time to have ‘coffee’ with Clover,” she smirked.

Pyrrha’s blush deepened, and Clover gave an elaborate sigh. “It is _just_ coffee,” Clover assured them, which was true. Though they certainly found each other attractive, when they got together—which was frequently—they only talked. 

“Uh-huh,” Yang said. She threw Oscar a look, and the young ensign shook his head quickly, knowing what was coming. “Just like Oscar and Ruby were just—“

“Yang, shut up!” Ruby shouted, but everyone just laughed. It was a standing joke that never failed to amuse everyone, _except_ Ruby and Oscar. The rumor was that the two of them had hooked up in Algiers, something both vehemently denied…though Ruby had been in Oscar’s room that entire night.

“And speaking of Ensign Pine,” Clover said, clearing his throat. “Oscar, you’ll be welcoming Funky Flight from the _Kennedy_ today. The EU is letting the US Navy deploy some flights around too.”

“Four planes, yee ha,” Elm grumbled.

“Actually, two…but they’re both Tomcats, so there you go,” Clover answered.

“I thought Flynt was Air Force?” Blake asked.

“He’s doing the exchange pilot thing,” Yang told her, remembering her last run-in with Funky Flight at Las Vegas, which had been a pleasant one. 

“And finally…Weiss, you requested the day off to meet with your sister?”

“If you can spare me,” Weiss said.

“Sure thing,” Clover replied. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, that’s it for today. Let’s go do it to them before they do it to us.”

_Schnee Manor (Herrencheimsee)_

_Near Munich, Federal Republic of Germany_

_15 August 2001_

Jacques Schnee opened his newspaper; he was old-fashioned, and preferred the feel of newsprint under his fingers, rather than looking up the news on the internet—even if Schnee Manor had one of the fastest wi-fi internet speeds in Germany. He scowled at the article on the upcoming EU Council election: he was in the lead over the other four candidates, but his lead, once commanding, had narrowed considerably. The other two men were not worth worrying about; they were too far behind. Robyn Hill was a different story: she was now only two points behind in the polls, within the margin of error. To his disgust, the slight thaw in diplomatic relations between the European Union and the United States had benefited her, not him. Jacques didn’t understand it: he was the head of one of Europe’s largest consortiums, a well-respected man of society, rich and well-connected with the politicians of the EU, and he was on the verge of being tied with an upstart, British-born, American-raised mercenary pilot, the self-styled defender of Poland. “And who gives a damn about the Poles anyway!” Jacques shouted.

A further diatribe was interrupted by a polite knock on his door. “Who is it?” he snapped.

The door opened, and Whitley Schnee stuck his head through the door. “Just me, Father. You have a visitor.”

“I don’t want to be disturbed and you know it,” Jacques growled at his son. “Why did you let anyone in?”

“I didn’t,” Whitley insisted. “He…let himself in.” The door opened further, and Whitley stepped aside. Jacques scowled, but then he blinked in utter surprise. 

“He’s definitely yours,” Arthur Watts said, smoothing his mustache. “A spitting image of you. Creepily so.”

Whitley chuckled. “Would you like me to call the Politzei, Father, and have this smartarse kicked to the curb?”

“No…no, that’s not necessary, Whitley. Leave us alone, please, and shut the door. And don’t tell your mother.”

“She’s passed out anyway,” Whitley told him. “Sir.” He bowed to Watts with enough flourish to make it insulting, and shut the door.

Watts chuckled and strode across Jacques’ office. “What _is_ it with your children, Jacques? All of them defiant little brats. You should’ve beat them more.” He leaned against the huge desk. “Or perhaps you beat them too much, and now they hold you in contempt.”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Jacques said, ignoring Watts’ commentary on his parenting ability.

“Well, that’s what I wanted people to think.” Watts went over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. 

“Feel free with my brandy,” Jacques snorted.

“Oh, I will.” Watts sampled the brandy. “Mm, quite good. Your tastes haven’t changed, Jacques. Your problems, however, have. Namely your Ironwood problem.”

“That bastard is costing me more money every day with this damned embargo.”

“Which, as I recall, was your idea in the first place,” Watts pointed out, accurately.

“Yes!” Jacques slammed a fist onto the desk. “Because after the Americans made fools of themselves at Beacon, I thought I could take advantage of that for votes!” He had no idea why he was being honest with one of the most dishonest men in Europe, but Jacques needed to vent to someone, even if it was Dr. Arthur Watts. “I’d end the embargo tomorrow if I wasn’t trying to get this damn Council seat.”

“Well, now, we don’t want to do that.” Watts crossed over from the desk to the small sitting area, where a series of couches surrounded a table. There was a chessboard on it, and Watts bent down to pick up the black queen. “Jacques, as one old friend to another…how would you like to have your cake and eat it too?” 


	2. Hazy Shade of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter has something to show Weiss...a secret that might set Europe on fire. 
> 
> If Jacques doesn't do it first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 2. A little bit of air combat, a little bit of exposition, and a little bit of everything going to hell.

_North Sea Aerial Training Range_

_Near Bornholm, Denmark_

_15 August 2001_

"Good afternoon, ladies," said the voice of the range controller. "Per your request, this is a 1V1 ACM training exercise. Weapons are limited to guns and heats only, no DUST. Hard deck is 5000 feet. Blizzard Lead, you are in north to south. Ruby Two, you are in south to north. Maintain 1000 feet separation. Check in."

"Blizzard."

"Ruby," Weiss said, trying to control her breathing.

"Fight's on," the range controller called out, and Weiss rammed the throttle of her Typhoon forward, pulling the fighter into a climb. She kept her radar off, though it didn't matter: Winter Schnee might not have Ruby Rose's phenomenal eyesight, but she was no slouch, and would spot her very quickly. Weiss rolled inverted and scanned the sky through her canopy. _There she is!_ She could see the other Typhoon against the blue of the North Sea. Winter was climbing to meet her, so Weiss pushed over into the dive. Both Schnee sisters were flying the same aircraft, and without DUST, neither would use off-boresight missile shots. It was dogfighting, old fashioned style, so it would be up to the skill of the pilot.

"Blizzard, Fox Two on Ruby."

"Shit," Weiss growled, and steepened the dive, dropping flares behind her, then rolled out above the hard deck and broke left. "Missile shot trashed," Range Control reported, but Weiss knew that Winter hadn't fired hastily. She never expected the simulated missile to hit, but it had forced Weiss to abandon her own solution, and maneuever away—and now Winter was in a perfect position to roll in behind her. Weiss craned her head around, and suppressed a sigh: sure enough, Winter was now settling into Weiss' six o'clock.

"All right, dear sister," Weiss whispered to herself, "let's see how badly you want this." Weiss pushed the Typhoon to the limits, making eight-G breaks and turns that forced the breath from her lungs and made it feel like a giant was squeezing her in its fist. Every time she looked back or in the mirrors on her canopy, Winter was still there. Weiss was keeping her from getting missile shots, but Winter kept tracking for gun attacks. She tried climbing, but just as quickly dropped back down, and Weiss began to curse under her breath. Winter had allowed her to trap herself, less than thirty seconds after the fight began: if Weiss climbed, she would be perfectly outlined for a missile shot. If she dived, she would "hit" the invisible hard deck and be declared just as simulated dead. That left horizontal tactics, which were predictable, and sooner or later Winter would get her.

It was time to do something Ruby or Yang would do, which meant doing something crazy. Weiss stole a quick glance in the mirrors, and saw her opportunity: Winter was following just a shade too close. Taking a deep breath, Winter pulled up, then throttled back and opened her speedbrakes. It was the oldest trick in the book, but that was because it often worked. The Typhoon shuddered on the edge of a stall and skidded.

" _Mein Gott!"_ Winter shouted over the open channel, which meant she had hit the mike button on the throttle by accident. Weiss saw the blur of her sister's Typhoon as it broke hard right, missing the other aircraft by less than twenty feet. Weiss let _Myrtenaster_ fall over on one wing, then shoved the throttles back into afterburner; a twitch of the stick, and she was now on her sister's tail. Winter tightened the turn, then began rolling to defeat any gun attack by Weiss, but now it was the younger Schnee who refused to be thrown off. Weiss settled the gunsight over the twin engines of Winter's Typhoon and opened her mouth to call for a gun pass.

She was surprised when Winter suddenly climbed. Weiss immediately switched back to her simulated IRIS heat-seeking missiles and followed her sister into the vertical. It was a perfect infrared shot, the one Weiss herself had feared ten seconds previously: hot afterburners against a cold sky. Then Winter twisted to one side, still climbing, and Weiss blinked as she found herself staring into the sun. _Good move,_ she complimented Winter; even the most sophisticated IR missiles might blindly and overoptimistically home in on the sun itself. Still, she couldn't hold the course forever.

Weiss saw the Typhoon's nose begin to drift to the left. _You're going for the hard deck, Winter. I know you are._ Her hand tightened on the stick. Sure enough, the other Typhoon suddenly hammerheaded, the nose dropping down and over as Winter let her aircraft stall. Weiss' hand was already moving: she rolled and dived, then rolled out again. If she had anticipated correctly, Winter would drop down nicely at excellent gun parameters. "Check," Weiss smiled.

Except Winter did no such thing. After a second of waiting, Weiss looked up, and to her disgust saw that Winter was the one to throw out her speedbrakes, as well as her flaps: the Typhoon was wallowing, on the edge of going out of control, but still flying. "Blizzard, Fox Two." Weiss threw _Myrtenaster_ into another break, but she'd waited too late.

"Ruby Two is a mort," Range Control reported. Weiss leveled out and waggled her wings, acknowledging her sister's victory, even as the other Typhoon roared downwards for a moment before Winter was able to pull it out of its dive. "Blizzard is a mort," Range Control said. "Blizzard, you have broken the hard deck. Knock it off." The latter wasn't an insult, but an order for both aircraft to cease fighting—since technically, both Weiss and Winter were dead.

"Roger," Winter said, with a chuckle. "Range Control, that's enough for today. Ruby Two, RTB—go to channel four."

"Roger," Weiss replied, waited until the controller cleared them both out of the range, and took up position behind and to Winter's right as she switched over to the more discreet channel. "A tie, Blizzard?"

"It would appear so, Ruby Two," Winter said, emotionlessly. "Your technique is still sloppy, and that deliberate stall when I was behind you was lunatic. We almost collided." She paused. "Still, it's impressive. You've learned much."

"That was very close to a compliment, Blizzard," Weiss chided.

"It was not intended as such."

"We all make mistakes."

Weiss heard her sister laugh at that. "You've grown up a bit, haven't you? You're not the little girl clinging to the family name."

"I'm not sure I ever was," Weiss countered, "but since Beacon, I'm not sure I had much choice."

"Whatever the case, I'm glad to see you've grown beyond our name. Distancing myself from the Schnee family is the most beneficial thing I've ever done. Keep it up, and I think you'll have your own command someday. Perhaps sooner than you think, if General Ironwood has anything to do with it."

 _My own command,_ Weiss thought. Only six months previously, she would have jumped at the chance. Now, it almost frightened her. Eventually, that was likely to happen: she would be promoted to Major and become the second in command of a _geschwader,_ an air wing, and have her own squadron. But that would mean leaving Ruby Flight. She could refuse, of course—Huntresses had that option—but there would be enormous pressure to leave her friends. After all, the Luftwaffe needed skilled flight leaders, and at the moment, there were none as experienced as Weiss, unless it was her sister. "I'm not sure I could accept," Weiss finally told her sister.

"Oh?"

Weiss checked the sky around them, then their spacing. Normally, flying close formation was not the place to have a conversation, but they were over northern Germany, and the frontier was a long way off. "We're not supposed to be like this, Win—Blizzard. We're supposed to be united against the GRIMM, not at each other's throats."

"I think we're more united that it seems, Ruby Two. And once we've weathered this current storm—and we will—we will come out of it stronger for doing so. I know the general hasn't done everything perfectly, but he's doing what he thinks is right."

Weiss wasn't so sure about that. They had thought that about Ozpin as well, among others. Everyone had secrets. "I suppose, but can we be sure he's not keeping anything from us?" Even as she said it, Weiss felt like a hypocrite: they had yet to tell Ironwood that they had activated JINN, twice, and by doing so might have allowed Salem to track Ruby and Norn Flights from China to Poland. Ruby had promised to tell the general at some point, but Weiss wondered if her friend was just trying to run out the clock.

"Ironwood's not keeping secrets from me," Winter answered.

"Are you sure?" Winter immediately wished she hadn't said that, either. It sounded accusatory, like Weiss was trying to turn Winter against her commanding officer, and father figure. Certainly James Ironwood had been more of a father to Winter than their own father had been.

"Ruby Two, go to channel two." They switched back to a more general frequency. "Teddy Bear, this is Blizzard."

"Blizzard, Teddy Bear, go ahead." Teddy Bear was the codename for the radar station in the heart of Berlin, at the old Templehof airport. It controlled military airspace around the capital.

"Changing flight plan from Tegel to Schonefeld. Authorization is Whiskey India Sierra."

There was a pause. "Roger, Blizzard. You are cleared to Schonefeld."

"Ruby Two, follow me," Winter said, and gently turned more towards the south. Weiss knew better than to question the order.

* * *

The two sisters landed at Schonefeld, Berlin's other major international airport, southeast of the city, which tended not to be used by the military—though there was a small section of the airport reserved for military traffic, it was not a mixed-use location like Tegel to the northwest. They taxied into the military section and parked; both Typhoons were the only aircraft there. As Weiss followed a ground crewman around to postflight _Myrtenaster,_ Winter disappeared to make a phone call. When she returned, she merely motioned Weiss to follow her. "Where are we going?" Weiss asked as they went through a chain-linked gate, but Winter didn't answer. Instead, the sisters waited in silence until a SUV arrived, painted German Army green, its only markings small German flags on both doors. Weiss climbed into the back seat; the only other occupant was the driver. " _Sommerpalast,_ " Winter instructed him, and showed him her ID card. The driver glanced back at Weiss, and Winter nodded. "I'll vouch for her."

The driver returned her nod and pulled out into the airport's main road. They were not on it for long before the driver started taking side roads away from the airport, rather than the autobahn. They drove southwest over narrow rural roads, through a small suburb of Berlin, to a forest. Just inside the treeline, they reached another double chainlink fence, topped with razor wire. A single guard shack stood by the gate. The armed guard stepped out as the SUV came to a stop, inspected everyone's ID cards, and waved them through, opening the gate. He looked bored. Weiss read the sign on the fence: _Radar Station 1138, Berlin Sector._ Beneath it, in smaller script, were the words _Luftwaffe Military Installation, Use of Deadly Force Authorized._ To the nonmilitary, the latter might have sounded ominous, but the same sign was around every military base in the world, in many languages. Weiss wondered why Winter was taking her to a radar installation, but had a bad feeling that Radar Station 1138 was more than that.

Her suspicions were confirmed two minutes later. The SUV went deeper into the forest, made a slow 90-degree turn, and ended up in a dell, where another guard shack and another fence awaited. This time, however, the shack was concrete, the fence had warning signs that it was electrified, and the guards there were not bored. Unlike the first guard, who only had a submachine gun, these guards had assault rifles and body armor. Weiss followed Winter out of the SUV and into the shack. One of the guards asked her to wait while Winter went into an adjoining room. After about ten minutes, Weiss was ushered into the room and the door closed behind her.

Her sister stood against another door, in her customary parade-rest pose. The guards here wore only regular Luftwaffe uniforms, and all three were female. "Hauptmann Schnee," one said politely. "May I have your sidearm?"

"Certainly," Weiss replied; she'd expected that, at least. She reached into her survival vest and unclipped the Beretta, the handed it over grip first. It was given to one of the other guards, then the first one faced her again. "My apologies, Hauptmann, but I must ask you to strip."

"Strip? Do you mean take off my G-suit and survival vest?"

The guard looked embarrassed. "No, Hauptmann. Take off everything but your underwear." Weiss almost told the guard exactly what she could do and where she could place it, but a warning glance from Winter stopped her. She noticed that Winter's survival vest and G-suit were on a table. Weiss nodded, and did as instructed. "Hands behind your head, please," the guard instructed, and Weiss put her hands behind the tight bun of her white hair. The three guards efficiently went through her flight suit, checked her boots and socks, and even felt through her hair and checked the waistband of her panties. "What, no body cavity search?" Weiss joked. To her surprise, one of the guards looked at Winter for confirmation. Winter gave a minute shake of the head. Once they were finished, the guard told Weiss she could get dressed. Mortified, Weiss did so. Once she had, Winter led her through the door. This door was a foot thick, steel and counterbalanced. Winter then walked down a long hallway that sloped gently, deeper into the earth.

"Where are we?" Weiss asked. "What was all that about?"

"You are not to tell _anyone_ about this place," Winter said instead. "Not even your friends. You may tell them who we are meeting, but not a word about where. I mean this, Weiss. This secret is just as important as JINN, if not moreso."

"The strip search was necessary?"

Winter's mouth quirked into a smile. "You're lucky. The first time I was here, there _was_ a cavity search."

Weiss said nothing more. They came to the end of the hallway, through another security checkpoint—though this time, only their IDs were checked—and into an underground chamber. The walls were concrete, but white painted, while huge prints were hung on the walls to give the illusion of there being an outside. There were several people going to and fro, all wearing the various uniforms of the Bundeswehr, the German armed forces. "Welcome to the Summer Palace," Winter told her sister. "This was originally built by the East Germans in the 1950s, as an underground bunker for their leadership should a nuclear war break out. It was where they surrendered in 1963; they were down here for six months. Since then, it's become an underground command post for our military and, if necessary, our government." Winter gave a small shrug. "It's our equivalent of the Americans' Cheyenne Mountain, but it's nowhere near as well known. In fact, less than ten Americans even know about the Summer Palace—General Ironwood is one of them, of course."

"I don't understand," Weiss admitted.

"You will." They went through two more checkpoints, then down a deserted hallway, before coming to a door—one of a dozen in the hallway. Winter reached under her flight suit and withdrew a key, then unlocked the door. "I'm never without this key." To Weiss' surprise, Winter blushed. "Well, _almost_ never. Come in—wash your hands, please."

Weiss did so, then slipped plastic booties over her combat boots. "It's not a completely clean room," Winter explained. "Not like…well, I suppose that doesn't matter now." Winter said nothing further as they entered the main room.

The room was large and airy, with more of the lighted prints on the wall, and the soft noise of a mountain brook and forest birds playing over hidden speakers. There was a small kitchen and refrigerator, but Weiss' eyes went to the medical equipment, and the single bed. Lying in it, reading a book, was an old woman.

"Good afternoon, Fria," Winter said. "Feeling better today?"

"Ah, good afternoon, Winter." The old woman took off her glasses and set them aside. "And this must be your sister, Weiss." She inclined her head to Weiss. "Good afternoon, Hauptmann Schnee. Forgive me if I don't get up—I'm afraid I took a bit of a fall last week and almost broke my hip." She held out a hand, and Weiss gently shook it. The hand was pale, veins clearly visible beneath, and the grip was frail. "My name is Fria Gletscher. I'm sure you've heard of me."

Weiss' eyebrows rose. "I have," she replied. "You were the first female Luftwaffe pilot—at least postwar. You started flying around…1959? In Sabres?"

Fria smiled. "1955, but yes, I started off in Sabres. Then F-84s, and then F-104s." She looked past Weiss to Winter. "Coffee, please. No sugar." She smiled. "I do like hot coffee on a cold day. Reminds me of home. I was born in Bertchesgaden."

"Certainly." Winter began brewing some coffee.

"I suppose it's not cold outside," Fria said. "Being summer and all." Her smile widened at Weiss' quizzical expression. "You're wondering why your sister brought you all this way underground to meet an old relic, yes? Well, I'm surprised you haven't guessed it." Fria held up her left arm. Around it was a thick metal bracelet.

Weiss didn't recognize it, but she knew all the same. "You're the Winter Maiden."

"Technically, the _holder_ of the Winter Maiden controller," Fria corrected. She waved a hand towards the ceiling. "The actual Winter Maiden is orbiting about a hundred miles above us. But I suppose you knew that already, if you're here." She raised her voice. "Winter, is there any more of that cake left?"

Winter checked the refrigerator. "A few slices."

"Excellent! Let's have it, then." Fria sat up in the bed, fended off Weiss' attempts to help, and raised her voice again. "I don't suppose you'll let me have a smoke."

"I most certainly will not," Winter chuckled.

Fria leaned closer to Weiss. "The doctors here won't let me smoke or drink. Why, I don't know."

"Because it will kill you?" Winter said.

Fria laughed. "My God, Oberst Schnee, I'm already dying. Why bother?" She sighed. "Of course, that's why I'm sitting in a hospital bed." She motioned Weiss to a chair. "Terminal cancer, my dear. I'm afraid I'm not long for this world. I could pass any day now."

Winter handed the old woman a plate with the cake, and slid out a tray from the side of the bed to set the coffee on. "It's not as bad as all that, Fria."

"Close enough." She took a bite of cake and washed it down with the coffee. Weiss could see her hands were shaking. "You see, Weiss, Winter is my chosen successor. It's why she comes down here at least once every three or four days. If I keel over, then she can transfer the controller bracelet quickly."

Weiss looked at her sister in amazement. "Ironwood chose _you_ to be the next…"

"Not just Ironwood," Winter said. "Ozpin as well. I believe Colonel Goodwitch had some input as well; certainly the Chancellor did."

"As did I," Fria added. "As Winter could tell you, I have practically interrogated her." She laughed. "She is perfect for the role. Of course, that's not surprising. I had my eye on Oberst Schnee since she was a mere leutnant."

"When did you know?" Weiss asked her sister.

"Since just before Vytal Flag started."

"So you've been groomed your entire military career," Weiss said. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"A little, at first," Winter replied. "But the more I thought about it, the more I saw it as a privilege, to better serve my country, and the world."

"It's a great honor," Fria told Weiss. "Winter would be only the second Winter Maiden holder. And of course, she's appropriately named." Another laugh.

"But your destiny was chosen for you, without your input," Weiss protested.

Fria set aside the coffee and took Weiss' hand. "Not so, Weiss. Winter is a volunteer, as I was. Being a Maiden, as it were, is a tough job. Much of your time is spent in places like this. You have no privacy. You are constantly watched. I never married because of this. But it has been worth it." She smiled at Winter. "My passing is easier, knowing that I have a worthy successor."

"It has nothing to do with Father, or the general," Winter said. "It is something I want to do. That belongs to me, no one else."

Weiss stared into her coffee. "I guess we've both done a little bit of that. Carving out our own way." She raised her mug to take a drink.

"Though I never had to go AWOL," Winter commented, and Weiss nearly spit out her coffee.

Fria laughed, hard, and started coughing. She waved them off. "No, no. I'm all right." She let go of Weiss' hand, and picked up her own coffee. "Now, enough of that. Winter has mentioned that you have had many adventures, Hauptmann. I would like to hear them."

Weiss opened her mouth to begin, but then the phone rang. Winter excused herself, got up, and answered it. She muttered through a one-sided conversation, hung up, then crossed over to the television. "Speaking of adventures, Father giving a speech."

"Wonderful," Weiss groaned.

* * *

_Zur Krone Gasthaus_

_Cottbus, Federal Republic of Germany_

_15 August 2001_

"So we pick up this gal on the 60 Mark Strasse," Sergeant Robert Lee said, leaning across the table, "and I says to Bud—you know Bud, Heather, he's the gunner over on 55—I says, 'Dude, we should drop her back off. That's the Stormtrooper.'"

Corporal Heather Redfeather gave Lee a cool look. "The Stormtrooper?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, she's one of the girls out there. Nice body, but a face that would make a train take a dirt road. I tells Bud, 'You can do better,' but he says, 'I been in the field for a month, boy, and I don't _care_ what she looks like. I just need pussy.'" He glanced at his tank commander. "His words, ma'am, not mine."

Captain Karelia Bighorn-Vlata only shook her head in amusement. "I'm sure, Sarge. By all means, continue." She took a drink of her mug of beer. "Are you paying attention, Sammy?"

Specialist/4 Sammy Lougheed nodded. "Unfortunately, Captain." Karelia laughed, and Sammy turned to Lee. "They charge extra for Faunus on the 60 Mark Strasse?"

"How should I know? I'm not a furry, like you." Had it been from anyone else, Lee's words would've been an invitation to a fight. The stocky Lougheed was a raccoon Faunus: he was short, but built like a pro wrestler—he needed to be, to lift the 120mm tank shells that their M1 Abrams used for its main gun. He was the loader. Lee, who was a human and so stereotypically Southern that people wondered if it was a prank, was the gunner. Heather Redfeather, a tall, willowy lynx Faunus, was the driver. All four were in fatigues, headed back from a 48-hour pass in Berlin.

"If it was only 60 marks," Redfeather remarked, "then I'd get checked for herpes when we get back to Kalisz." The 60 Mark Strasse was the nickname for a stretch of road east of Berlin where prostitutes could be picked up; it was generally frequented by US Army forces stationed in the area. The Army turned a blind eye to the practice, knowing there was no way to stop it.

"Hey, that's just a nickname," Lee insisted. "And what did you do on your pass, Heather? Go to church?" He nudged Lougheed. "I expect it from this Calvinist bastard—"

"I'm Anglican, you Baptist heretic," Lougheed interrupted.

"—whatever. I expect it from Sammy, but you're a party girl, Heather."

"I was, until I lost my stripes for that barfight in Madison at Junior's place," Heather replied. "What? I just took a lot of pictures of Berlin. Photography's my thing now." She patted the camera pack on her hip.

Lee was about to remark on that, when Karelia shushed him. The TV was showing Jacques Schnee, and the bartender turned it up so that the packed gasthaus could hear it. Conversation stopped. Karelia spoke enough German to hold a conversation; neither Redfeather nor Lougheed spoke more than enough to order dinner. Lee, for all of his reputation as a redneck, spoke it fluently, and he quietly translated for his friends.

"All of us are being hurt by this senseless embargo between the European Union and the United States," Jacques was saying. "If I'm elected to the EU Council, I've made it no secret that I will demand General Ironwood withdraw all but one American division from Poland and Germany. Were it not for the general's reckless and, in my opinion, criminal and illegal measures, this embargo could have ended weeks ago. The withdrawal of one division was a step in the right direction, but unfortunately Ironwood has refused to pull out a single American soldier since. President Shawcross has said publicly that he would support such a withdrawal, but Ironwood seems to think he is above the law."

Jacques paused, and shook his head sadly. "With so much of the Schnee consortium's business in the United States, I know that so many of my employees are suffering. My family has been weathering the same storm as many of you. I have been forced to lay off much of my staff, and my son Whitley has agreed to remain here in Germany, rather than resume his studies in Great Britain, in a show of solidarity." He sighed, deeply. "Effective immediately, Schnee GmbH will be shutting down all nonessential operations. This extends to our coal mining operations in Cottbus, our heavy manufacturing interests in Dusseldorf, and our Airbus assembly operations in Hamburg. Other operations will continue, but at a reduced rate." He looked out at his audience squarely. "One hopes this will be very temporary, and everyone can be back to work soon. If elected to office, I will make the changes necessary to fix what Ironwood has broken. To my Polish friends and constituents, I must ask you: your economy is also suffering, moreso even than Germany, from this embargo. Robyn Hill supports Ironwood. Can you trust her? Or should you do the sensible thing and vote for me?"

The bartender turned the TV back down as Jacques took questions. "How the hell can he even run for office from Poland?" Redfeather asked.

"Dual citizenship," Karelia explained. "He owns a big plot of land around Zagan."

"What a fucker," Lee growled. "Ironbutt is kind of a prick, but damn, we're just trying to protect Europe. Schnee could end this tomorrow."

"Heads up," Karelia warned. Someone had noticed that there were US Army personnel in the gasthaus. Karelia had noticed that they were also the _only_ Americans in the bar. It was a working man's bar, and the majority of the people here were coal miners—which meant, Karelia knew, that Jacques Schnee had just thrown them out of work.

One of the bar patrons, a burly man with a face that had seen a few miles, walked up to the table, and stopped in front of Karelia. "You Americans?"

Karelia looked up at him. "We are. Is there problem?"

He tried to poke her in the chest, but she intercepted the finger, shoving him back. Instead, he pointed at the TV. "You hear that? You understand German?" His English was accented, but passable.

"We understood. And we are sorry." She got up and put a hand on his shoulder, switching to German. "We don't want fight. We are leaving, okay?"

"This is your fault!" a woman screamed. "My husband doesn't have a job now!"

Lee got to his feet, raising his hands. "Fraulein, we're just soldiers. We don't make policy, ma'am! We're just following orders."

"Ah, just following orders!" The first man laughed. "Where have we heard that before, my friends? That sounds _very_ familiar!"

Another man stepped forward, and two more women. "Get out. Get out of this bar and out of our town!" the second man shouted in English. "Get out of our country!"

Lougheed was on his feet now, as was Redfeather. "Hey," he said, also in English, correctly guessing that a few of the patrons spoke it, "we don't like being here anymore than you want us here. We're defending you from the GRIMM."

"GRIMM, ha!" the burly man jeered. "I see no GRIMM around here."

"Go about a hundred klicks east," Lougheed snapped. "You'll see plenty."

"And you'll defend us from these 'GRIMM'?" The man used his fingers as quotation marks.

"Yes," Karelia answered. "Now let us through. We will leave." Most of the patrons who had gotten up began moving aside, and Karelia began to think they might just get out of the gasthaus without a fight.

"Maybe you should hump a rifle," Redfeather snarled. "Get out there and help us, rather than sitting on your fat ass collecting welfare. That's all you Krauts ever do—sit around while we defend your lazy asses."

Karelia turned to tell Redfeather to shut up, but it was too late. The big man yelled a horrible oath and punched Redfeather in the jaw. She was not expecting it and went down, hard. Lougheed launched himself at the man and speared him through a table, which collapsed under them.

The fight was on.

Karelia ducked a punch, swung and missed, then stepped back as Lee connected. She took another step back to cover Redfeather, who was shaking her head free of the cobwebs and trying to get up. Someone came in to kick her, so Karelia grabbed a chair and smashed it across the woman's back. She saw Lougheed pull his opponent up to punch him, but the burly miner grabbed a knife. It was a butter knife, not able to do much, but it was an escalation. Luckily, Lougheed sidestepped the clumsy thrust and smashed an elbow into the man's face. Beyond them, Karelia saw the bartender grab the phone and start dialing, undoubtedly calling the police. That was a good thing, she supposed; the Polizei would certainly see reason—

She was distracted, and didn't see the punch. White stars exploded behind her vision, and she found herself sitting on the floor. Karelia rolled over as someone else tried to kick her as well, but now Redfeather was on her feet and punched that person away. She grabbed another chair and was raising it to hit yet someone else, and then gasped and dropped the chair. Redfeather looked down at the knife protruding from her abdomen. In front of her was a young man, and he looked as shocked as she did, as if he could not quite believe he had just stabbed her. He pulled back the steak knife, and blood welled up from the wound. The young man stepped back and raised the knife; Karelia couldn't be sure if he was going to drop it or stab again.

In theory, US Army troops in Europe were not allowed to carry weapons off station or away from the battle area. Karelia, however, had heard about the murders in Berlin and had decided, before she and her crew left Kalisz, to bend the rules. Concealed in an ankle holster was a .32 Llama pistol, just in case. Karelia drew the pistol and raised it. The knife descended, and she pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out through the gasthaus, and it hit the young man an inch right from his left armpit. The impact and the surprise of the shot caused him to fall to the floor; the knife clattered next to him, and Karelia realized he'd been trying to drop it. "Oh God," she breathed.

No one else in the gasthaus was armed. The sound of the pistol shot changed the crowd's mood from rage to panic, and they stampeded out the front door. A woman screamed as she was trampled in the rush.

The young man groaned and tried to sit up, as he put a hand against the bullet hole. Karelia scrambled to her feet, but as she did so, she heard Redfeather croak, "Cap? I think I'm hit, Cap." Lee was at her side and lowered her to the ground, pressing his hands against the stab wound. Dark blood welled around it. Redfeather's fingers were shaking with shock, and she feebly pawed at the blood, smearing it across her uniform tunic. "For fuck's sake!" Lee shouted at the stunned bartender. "Call an ambulance, you asshole!"

"I didn't…I didn't mean…" The pistol fell from Karelia's fingers as the Polizei stormed through the gasthaus' entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incidentally, the "60 Mark Strasse" mentioned later actually existed at one point, though it was known as the "40 Mark Strasse" and was outside of Kaiserslautern. Though my dad never, er, partook, some of his single friends did. And there really was a girl they called the Stormtrooper...


	3. The Politics of Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Election Day, and it's promising to go down to the wire between Jacques and Robyn. 
> 
> But someone else gets a vote, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Election day in "RWBY Wings." For those looking for parallels to either the 2016 or 2020 US elections--while RT might not have avoided them, I'm trying to. It's a no-win situation to get into that. This story is not meant to be political in any way, shape or form. Unforunately, because of the canon episode that this is based on, I suppose the parallels will be found no matter what. The election is much closer in this chapter than it was in canon RWBY, because it's already been stated several times that Robyn and Jacques were close in the polls.

_Poznan-Krezesiny Airbase_

_Poznan, Republic of Poland_

_18 August 2001_

_BERLIN (AP)—After two days of rioting over the economic damage suffered by the embargo of the United States by the European Union, the governments of the Federal Republic of Germany and the Republic of Poland reported that the riots are "largely" under control. No deaths have been reported, but riots in Hamburg, Berlin, Munich, and Poznan have left at least 200 people injured, many seriously. In Poznan alone, 80 people were arrested for attacking German-owned businesses in that city. In Munich, the riots targeted the offices of the Schnee Consortium, while in Hamburg a crowd attempted to assault the Airbus production facility before being turned back by riot police with tear gas and flash grenades._

_After an incident in Cottbus that left a US Army soldier and two civilians badly injured, all US armed forces bases in Germany and Poland have been placed on lockdown, including Grafenwohr, Ansbach, Wurzburg, Ramstein, Sembach, Spandau and Rhein-Main in Germany, and Poznan-Krezesiny and Wroclaw in Poland. According to a statement released by Supreme Allied Commander Europe, General James Ironwood, the latter two bases will be off restriction by this afternoon, with the other bases to follow in the next 24 hours. "We do not wish to cause the local economies of these areas to be any more adversely affected than they already are," Ironwood told reporters from his forward headquarters in Poznan. The general's remarks were welcomed in Poland and in the Rheinland and Bavaria states in Germany, where sentiment has been more pro-American than in other areas, likely due to the close relationship between those regions and American forces._

_In a statement released on both local news media and the internet this morning, mercenary leader and candidate for the EU Council seat for Poland, Robyn Hill, said the following: "I do not condone rioting of any kind. It only makes the situation and the hardships we've endured worse. I believe my opponent, Jacques Schnee, made his announcement to enflame the situation, and force people to vote for him to simply make the economic pain stop. I understand the anger of so many Europeans, especially Poles, but ask that the latter, at least, show it not in the streets but at the polls today."_

_As of this morning, the polling for the EU Council seat show a tight race, with Schnee falling behind in the polls to 46%, while Hill has gained to 48%, leaving 6% undecided. Political winds have been favoring Hill in recent weeks, with allegations of worker abuse of Faunus by the Schnee Company resurfacing. Schnee's latest speech seems to have backfired on him, accelerating his loss in daily polls. "It was a stunt," said Albert Drukmann, a former Schnee employee living in Krakow. "Schnee doesn't care about us. Robyn does."_

_Schnee did not comment publicly on Hill's statement. His spokesman spoke to reporters outside Herrencheimsee this morning, saying that Hill's speech was "ridiculous" and "only takes advantage of the situation." He also pointed out Hill's association with the US armed forces in fighting GRIMM at the so-called Vistula Barrier, saying that "Robyn Hill would return Europe to a domination by the United States not seen since before the Third World War." Jacques Schnee plans to await today's voting at his manor home in western Poland, while Robyn Hill has announced her intention to host a "victory party" at Poznan's Old Market Square tonight._

"General, sir?" Ironwood looked up from the newspaper at Master Sergeant Arnold Vogelmord's voice. "They're coming in, sir."

"Thank you, Sergeant." The general folded the paper into a back pocket and saw six aircraft roar in from the east. Clover Ebi joined him, shading his eyes from the sun. "Full racks," he said. "No combat today. Even against ground attacks." He glanced at Ironwood. "Fourth day in a row, sir."

"I know. That's what worries me." They watched as the five aircraft pitched out over the base in a break, a sharp turn over the center of the runways, led by Ruby Rose's F-16, then Weiss Schnee's Typhoon, followed by Oscar Pine's F-18, Pyrrha Nikos' F-22, Lie Ren's J-10, and finally, bringing up the rear, Nora Valkyrie's A-10. It was an excellent formation and even better break; although the ground crews had heard and seen hundreds of such sights, few of them could resist a look.

Ruby landed first and taxied towards her revetment as Clover and Ironwood backed up to the rear wall to give her room. She stopped on the mark and shut the engine down, while the crew chocked the wheels. The canopy came up as Vogelmord mounted the ladder and helped Ruby unstrap. Even over the noise of the engines from the other aircraft coming to a halt, Ironwood could hear Ruby cursing loudly. She stepped down the ladder and practically hurled her helmet into its bag. She was still cursing when the sergeant pointed at Ironwood. Ruby turned red, came to attention, and saluted. "Sorry, sir!"

Ironwood was amused rather than offended, and returned the salute. "I take it you found nothing?"

"No, sir. We flew practically to the old Russian border. Not a damn thing, sir." Ruby looked grumpily in the general direction of Weiss' revetment. "I'm never gonna catch up at this rate…"

"Just be careful you don't become some GRIMM's kill," Clover advised. All three turned at the sound of even louder cursing, in the distinct nasal voice of Nora. "I take it there weren't even any Sabyrs or Centinels."

"Not even them," Ruby confirmed. "It's like they've just disappeared."

"Or Salem pulled them back," Clover said quietly.

"At the rate we're going, Salem might be just holding back until we destroy each other," Ironwood commented. He waved them out of the revetment. "No matter who wins, the election doesn't bode well for stability. Jacques will likely end the embargo in a few weeks, but he'll take credit for it, and make sure I can't move any more troops in. Robyn will end it immediately, but I have no idea what she'll do after that. She doesn't trust me any more than I trust her."

"One seat is going to make all the difference, sir?" Ruby asked.

"The Council is split down the middle," Clover informed her. "Whoever takes the Poland seat will be the tiebreaker vote."

She turned to Ironwood. "Sir, I don't suppose you could endorse Robyn?"

Ironwood shook his head. "It would be seen as American interference in internal European politics. Legally, I can't even do that with _our_ elections, Captain."

"Can you work with her if she's elected, sir?" Ruby knew better than to ask if Ironwood could work with Jacques Schnee.

"Perhaps, but she has to work with _me_ first."

The other pilots joined them, and exchanged salutes. "I take it you're here for our next assignment, sir?" Ren asked.

"I am." Ironwood smiled. "I want you to take the rest of today and tomorrow off. All of the squadron. I've already given Ace Flight the night off. You are no longer confined to base." He looked at Weiss. "Except for you, Hauptmann Schnee. It may not be safe for the former heir to the Schnee fortune to be off base if Robyn loses tonight."

"I understand, sir," Weiss answered.

"Good." Ironwood sighed. "Whoever wins today, we'll be waking up to a different strategic situation tomorrow. I need you rested and ready. Have fun—that's an order."

* * *

"Looks like Robyn's out to an early lead," Yang said, checking the internet from the small computer in Ruby Flight's dorm room. The pilot dorms at Poznan were recently built, and everything was practically brand new in the room. Much to Ruby's happiness, there were four bunk beds built into one wall; they were very comfortable, reminding Blake more of the larger berths aboard a carrier. They were also much more sturdy and less jury-rigged than the bunks had been at Beacon. Weiss had let out a long and pained sigh when she saw the bunks, but Ruby had caught her surreptitiously smiling. "I think she's got this in the bag."

Weiss shook her head. She was the only one of the flight still in her uniform. "The first reporting areas are the central areas of Poland, like here in Poznan. I imagine my father will get a lot more votes from the port cities like Gdynia and the western areas—the port cities are more inclined to believe that he'll force an end to the embargo like he said he would, and the western districts are more closely linked to Germany economically. Add that Robyn's still seen as an outsider, and this thing is _far_ from in the bag."

Yang frowned at her. "Well, aren't you just Miss Sunshine and Cheer. I thought you wanted your dad to lose his ass."

"I do," Weiss replied. "I want to go down to our old summer lodge in Zagan tomorrow and laugh in his face. But I'm just being realistic, Yang." She leaned against the ladder between the bunks. "Still doesn't make any sense that he'd make that announcement when he did. It's hurt him."

"Maybe your pops just isn't that smart," Ruby put in. She was lying in her bunk.

"He is when it comes to politics," Weiss replied. "And business. He may be an asshole, but he's not stupid."

"Won't matter in a few hours. I still say Robyn's going to beat him like a red-headed stepchild." Yang shut off the computer and glanced into the bathroom. "Blakey! How's that makeup coming along?"

"I'm done, actually." Blake walked out of the bathroom. "How's it look?"

"Good to me, but I'm not the one who might get laid tonight." Yang wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Blake rolled her eyes.

Ruby sat up. "Where are you guys going?"

Blake clucked her tongue, went into the bathroom and grabbed a comb, and went after Yang's hair, which was standing out at odd angles. "Funky Flight flew in about an hour ago, and they wanted to sample the Poznan nightlife, so they invited us out. Yang and I thought it would get our minds off everything…hold still, Yang!"

"Ow!" Yang yelled. "My hair's supposed to bend like that!"

"It's way out of regulation—"

As Blake fought a losing battle against Yang's mane. Ruby rolled out of bed. "I thought you said Funky Flight was annoying."

"Neon Katt in particular," Weiss added.

"Ouch! Dammit, Blake!" Yang fended off her friend. "Well, I kind of owe them one for keeping me from getting my ass kicked in Vegas, remember? Anyway, that's the best thing about going to dance clubs with Neon." She pointed to her ears. "I can't hear that damn voice of hers. Blakey's a cat Faunus, but she doesn't add 'nyan' to half her sentences."

"That's an act," Blake said, giving up on the hair. "I don't like it either. It's kind of degrading. Next thing you know, she'll be playing with yarn or running from dogs."

"You didn't like Zwei," Ruby pointed out.

"That's because he was a drooling monster who chewed up my first copy of _Ninjas of Love,_ " Blake countered. She wasn't about to admit to being afraid of a dog less than a third her size.

There was a knock at the door, followed by it being jerked open by Nora, who clearly had no concept of privacy. "Yo, Ruby! Come on, girlfriend!" Ren hovered in the background.

"You're still going to Robyn's victory party?" Weiss raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, just because ol' Irondaddy doesn't like Robyn doesn't mean we all have to!" Nora protested. "Yeah, maybe Ironwood's trying to help Poland, but I think Robyn's doing a better job."

"I wouldn't throw a party until I actually _won_ the election," Weiss said. Nora snorted. "Well, have fun. Stay safe. If Robyn loses, they'll tear this town apart."

"Party pooper!" Nora told her. "Just because you're still confined to the base…"

Weiss stuck her nose in the air. "That's not it at all."

Ruby patted her shoulder as she walked past. "See you later, Weiss." Weiss smiled, ignored Nora sticking her tongue out at her, and sat down on her bunk as Ruby closed the door behind her.

"You could always come with us," Yang said.

"What part of 'don't leave the base' didn't you understand, Yang?"

"Aw! You'd be fine, Weissy. Undo your braid and you just look like anyone else." Weiss rolled her eyes. She was fairly certain that there were very few people on the planet under the age of 60 with naturally white hair. Yang smirked and turned back to Blake. "Okay, Blake. Let's see some dance moves."

"Um, Yang…I'm not much of a dancer. Not at what they do at clubs, anyway. It wasn't exactly a requirement of the White Fang, or the Marines." Nonetheless, Blake tried. The latest fad was shuffle dancing, which required a lot of footwork and rhythm. Blake had neither.

Yang hung her head. "Blake, I can't figure out if you're Cossack dancing or getting ready for a karate exhibition."

"But I'm doing it like you showed me…" Her ears folded back in consternation.

"And you suck. Here, watch me." Even Weiss had to admit that Yang could dance. She spun and twirled and moved her feet effortlessly. Someone else knocked on the door, so Weiss went over to answer it. Oscar, Pyrrha and Clover stood there. "Hello!" Pyrrha greeted her warmly. "We're going to go see _Pearl Harbor_ at the base theater if you're—"

"Sounds great." Weiss actually had little desire to watch that movie-Ruby had watched it opening night, and come back ranting that it was the most inaccurate piece of crap she'd ever seen—but anything was better than watching Yang try to teach Blake to dance.

"Oh…well, okay…" Pyrrha waved at the other two girls as Weiss shut the door.

* * *

_Old Market Square_

_Poznan, Republic of Poland_

_18 August 2001_

Ruby jumped as a car drove by, honking its horn. Atop the car were signs in Polish, but even with her very limited knowledge of the language, she could tell they were advocating for Robyn Hill. Ren watched the car drive off, taking a corner far too fast. "Weiss has a point. A victory party _does_ seem a bit premature."

"Aw, Ren," Nora replied. "Let them have some fun."

"Probably the last fun thing they'll do before Ironwood sends up the Commando Solo and everyone learns about…well, you know." Ruby didn't even want to speak Salem's name.

"We've spent a lot of time worrying about how people are going to react to Salem," Ren said; he did not share Ruby's concern. "Have any of us considered how _she's_ going to react to everyone knowing about her? Something tells me she's not going to just wait for the rest of the world to come after her." He kicked a rock down the sidewalk. "No GRIMM anywhere for the past four days, after months of nonstop attacks." Another rock got kicked aside. "We should be patrolling closer to the old Soviet border. Right now. Make sure she's not moving things up by night—"

"Ren, we've done enough patrolling!" Nora snapped. "Take some time off, for God's sake!"

"Time is something we don't _have_ _!"_ Ren shouted. Nora actually ducked her head; other people turned at the sound. He put his hands up; they were shaking. "I'm sorry—"

"I wish I knew what the hell was wrong with you," Nora cut him off, and walked ahead.

* * *

The Old Market Square was in the center of Poznan, one of the oldest parts of the city, dominated by a former military headquarters and arsenal that dated back to Napoleonic times, now a museum. The old arsenal stood in the center of the square, which was hemmed in by buildings nearly as aged. The square was filled with people, many waving Polish flags, campaign banners, and pictures of Robyn Hill. A temporary stage was set up next to a fountain surmounted by a statue of Apollo; at the back of a stage was a huge television screen, which updated the vote tallies live. Ruby checked the totals: Robyn still held a commanding lead, at 58%, but Jacques had increased his tally, with 42%. 60% of districts had reported in; the polls had closed in the eastern, rural districts of Poland, but the more urbanized west was still voting. At least a dozen Polish police officers in riot gear lined the sides of the square, but their shields were set aside and their visors were up, and they were chatting amiably with some of the people there. To Ruby's surprise, she recognized one of them as Marrow Amin. Then again, there were a large amount of Faunus in the crowd; it stood to reason that they would have no desire to support Jacques Schnee. Marrow, like Ruby, Ren and Nora, were in casual clothes rather than uniform, to avoid the appearance of endorsing a candidate.

"Ruby! Ruby Ruby Ruby!" Ruby turned and was nearly tackled to the concrete. No matter what version of her, Penny Polendina still didn't know her own strength.

Ruby somehow kept her footing and returned Penny's bone-crushing hug. "Ergh...hey, Penny. What're you doing here?"

Penny let go, and Ruby took in a desperately needed breath of air. "It is so good to see you!" She looked around. Once more to Ruby's surprise, Penny was wearing her flight suit; though there was no rank on it or patches, the olive drab suit immediately identified her as American military. "As for what I am doing here, I talked to my father earlier, and got his permission to fly out here with Funky Flight. I was not in the mood to try this 'clubbing,' which sounds quite violent, so I obtained General Ironwood's permission to come here."

"You shouldn't be in your flight suit," Ruby advised. "We're not supposed to even _look_ like we're favoring Robyn."

"Oh." Penny looked sad. "I didn't bring any other clothes, though."

Ruby thought about heading back to the base and letting Penny borrow some of hers, but it would take too long. The sun was nearly down and the lights were coming on. _Oh, what the hell,_ she thought, _it's not like anyone's going to notice around here._ "Ah, forget it, Penny," Ruby told her. Penny immediately brightened and waved at Ren, who waved back, then at Nora. "Hello, Ren and Nora!" She said it so fast that it mushed their names together to _Renora._ "Where's everyone else?"

"Weiss is confined to the base because she's a Schnee," Nora explained. "And a party pooper. Pyrrha and Oscar went to go see a movie. Blake and Yang are off doing their own thing…again." She shrugged. "Those two have been spending every waking moment together, I swear." Ruby agreed: Blake and Yang _had_ been spending a lot of time together lately—taking shopping trips to Berlin and sightseeing around Poznan when they weren't out on patrol. She personally didn't read anything into it; she'd been trying to spend more time with Oscar, and Pyrrha and Clover were continuing their coffee nights.

"At least they're back to being friends," Ren pointed out.

" _Just_ friends?" Nora said with surprising venom.

Ren gave her a look of complete innocence. "What else would they be?"

"Two people who've gone through _that_ much? I think there's more going on." Nora was not letting it go.

"Well, maybe they spend so much time together because they're best friends," Ren argued. "And they're worried about the other!"

"About _what?"_ Nora exclaimed.

"It's just that there's a lot of things going on right now!"

"Well, how can they figure things out if they don't talk about it?"

Ruby, who had been standing roughly between the arguing lovers, got out of the line of fire and went over to Penny, who was studying the two with intense interest. She leaned over to Ruby and dropped her voice. "I believe I may be confused, Ruby. Are they talking about Blake and Yang or themselves?"

"I'm not really sure," Ruby admitted. Penny shrugged and began to leave Ren and Nora to their argument, but Ruby clung to her. "Don't leave me with them—whoa, military museum?" She had just noticed what else the arsenal held. Ren and Nora didn't seem to notice they had left.

* * *

Much to Ruby's sadness, the museum was closed for the night. Penny mentioned she was hungry, so the two grabbed some ice cream from a vendor next to the stage, and then literally ran into Marrow, who was getting some kielbasa. Luckily, no one ended up with the other's snack on them. "Oh hey," the Faunus said, his tail wagging. "What're you doing here?"

"Having fun observing this party," Penny said.

"I'm just hanging out with a friend," Ruby told him, and held out her free hand for a fist bump to Penny. Penny gasped, made a fist, lined up like she was making a bomb run, and punched Ruby's hand. Now it was Ruby's turn to gasp as shock ran up her arm, and her knuckles suddenly began to throb. Penny turned to Marrow and held out her fist for a bump, as Ruby gritted her teeth and tried not to start cursing. "I'm good," Marrow smiled nervously.

"What're…ow…what're you doing here?" Ruby stammered.

"Got bored," Marrow replied. "I don't really support Robyn—though I like her a hell of a lot more than than old bastard Schnee—but this looked like fun."

"Blake shot you down again, huh?"

Marrow soured. "Yeah. I don't get it. I'm a Faunus, she's a Faunus, I'm good looking, she's gorgeous…" He sighed. "Oh well. Besides, I figure if the cops need some help, I can pitch in, just in case—"

"Just in case what?" All three turned to see May Marigold. She was glaring at them. Ruby noticed that she was armed, a Heckler and Koch MP5 slung over one shoulder. She'd heard that the Happy Huntresses had elected themselves Robyn's unofficial bodyguard. "What are you going to do—bite them?"

"I might," Marrow shot back. "I'll have you know that I placed fifth in the All-Canada Military Martial Arts competition last year, _and_ I have a marksmanship ribbon. So I can handle a little trouble." He struck a pose, though it was less impressive with a kielbasa in one hand.

May's glare became one of pity. "Oh, be still my heart. Well, _we're_ here to protect Robyn, so get lost."

"It's a free country," Marrow growled. "I can do whatever I want. Isn't that what your boss is running on?"

May was about to say something short and to the point, but she was interrupted by no less than Robyn Hill herself. She was hidden in the backstage shadows, so no one else outside their little group saw her—yet. "What's going on here, Wags?" It took Marrow a minute to realize she was referring to him. She nodded at Ruby and Penny. "I see Pipsqueak and Penny Pincher are here, too." Ruby began to turn red with anger at her new nickname; Penny just looked confused again. Ruby took an ill-advised step forward, only for May to block the way—and Joanna Greenleaf to materialize from the shadows as well.

"Just came for the party," Marrow told her. "And help with security, if necessary. Just trying to help."

Robyn was silent for a minute, then shrugged. "Fine, but stay out of the way of the professionals, okay? You're a fighter pilot, not a soldier—karate or marksmanship ribbon or not." May was staring at her strangely, and Robyn smiled. "If I get elected tonight, we're going to have to learn how to get along."

"When!" May insisted.

"If." Robyn nodded towards the stage display: the vote counter now read 52% to 48%, still in Robyn's favor, with 80% reporting—but the remaining districts were favored mostly for Jacques Schnee. Any other commentary was promptly cut off by Fiona Thyme, who had been fiddling with a microphone, trying to turn it on, without realizing that it was already on. The speakers on either side of the stage squealed with feedback, causing several screams and curses in several languages. "Oops," the sheep Faunus said—sheepishly. "Well, that worked." That brought laughter; Fiona was simply too cute to stay mad at. The vote counter changed again—and Robyn increased her lead for the first time in hours, to 53%. A cheer went up, followed by the crowd chanting Robyn's name.

Joanna tossed her head at the three of them. "Scram, kids; we've got a job to do." Marrow growled and took a bite of the kielbasa, as if it was Joanna's head, and as soon as her back and Robyn's was turned, Ruby gave them the finger. Penny looked aghast at the gesture, but Ruby led them back to where Ren and Nora were.

And they were still arguing. "I should've just gone to the damn movie," Ruby said morosely.

"Oh, _Pearl Harbor?"_ Marrow asked. "I thought that was pretty good, actually."

" _What?"_ Ruby snapped, which even stopped Ren and Nora for a moment. "Bull _shit!_ There's no way in hell a P-40 can climb with a Zero! And that going between buildings? What the hell, Michael Bay? You get confused and think you were making a _Star Wars_ movie, you dumbass—"

Penny covered Ruby's mouth with her hand to cut off the rant, because Fiona was talking. The crowd quieted, but not just for that: Robyn's lead dropped back to 52%. Fiona was speaking in Polish, so Ruby looked at Marrow; he shrugged. "She's thanking everyone for going to the polls," Penny explained. "She's saying that everyone's thrilled that Robyn will be Poland's voice in Brussels, and that no one has fought harder for Poland." Ruby's eyebrows went up, and Penny removed her hand. "I speak fluent Polish, German, English, Scots Gaelic, French, Italian and Esperanto." She turned back to face Fiona, and continued to translate. "Now she's asking Robyn to say a few words."

That much was obvious, as Robyn took the stage, punching a fist into the air. The crowd went wild, cheering, waving their flags even harder, and chanting her name again. Penny translated: "I've never been much for public speaking," Robyn was saying, "so I probably should've stuck to flying. But you asked me to be your representative, and I will try. You believe in me, and I believe in you!" More cheers. "You've proven to me as individuals, we're strong—but together, we're _unstoppable!"_ The crowd erupted, but Robyn waved them down—as the vote tally went to 51% to 49%, with 90% reporting. A tie would force a runoff election. She acknowledged the change in the vote. "No matter what happens tonight, win or lose, we will continue to fight, because it is this country that brings us together!" With one last wave, Robyn left the stage, to yet more chanting.

"This one's gonna be close," Ruby said.

Nora reached out to put her arm through Ren's, but he seemed not to notice. She got close to him. "Ren, what's going on? Why won't you just talk to me?"

Ren let out his breath. "Nora…I've never really…you know I've never been good at talking."

She nodded. "Then screw talking!" She grabbed him by both cheeks and pulled him down, crushing her lips against his. Ren was taken by surprise, but he relaxed into the kiss. They stayed that way as the crowd began yelling again: the district count leapt to 95% reporting, with Robyn still clinging to her lead.

"Aww." Penny clasped her hands together as she noticed Ren and Nora's kiss. Her expression of appreciation suddenly went to a blush, as Nora's hands crept down and squeezed Ren's butt. "Oh…er…"

Ruby saw it as well. "Gag," she groaned. Then she noticed movement on one of the surrounding buildings' roof. She squinted—it was hard to see, even with her eyesight, because of the bright lights surrounding the square, but there was something there. Reflection from the lights glinted for a second, and with horror, Ruby knew she was looking at the scope of a sniper rifle. She almost yelled, but it was doubtful that anyone would hear her over the crowd, and she stopped herself: the police might have a sniper on the roof. _But if it was a cop, he'd probably have a cover on his scope—_

Then the lights went out.

The crowd's yells increased in volume for a moment, both in surprise and anticipation, thinking that the totals were about to be announced, but then the shot echoed around the square. Someone screamed and Ruby saw a random person in the crowd go down in a spray of blood from their neck. A wave of hesitation went through the assembly, as people processed that what they had heard was gunfire rather than a balloon popping or a firecracker. Then another shot rang out, one of the police went down, his hands going to his face reflexively, and the crowd screamed as one in utter panic. They stampeded away from the shots—or where they thought the shots were coming from, which was hard to discern in the square. The result was utter pandemonium, as people ran in all directions, trying to find an exit, and quickly overwhelming the police.

Penny reacted first. She shoved Ruby down beneath the cover of the fountain; Ren and Nora dropped down next to them. Marrow showed the most courage, if not a lot of sense: he swam against the panicked crowd, trying to get to the stage. Near him, someone else went down, most of their head gone.

"Where's it coming from?" Nora screamed.

Ruby leveled an arm in the direction of where she had seen the glint. "There's a sniper! By the shot spacing, he's using a bolt action rifle!"

"We have to get to Robyn!" Ren yelled. Ruby had been surprised a lot this night, but Ren producing his Beretta from the pocket of his jacket was definitely one more of them.

Another shot and another scream. " _Go!"_ Ruby shouted, counting to herself. If they were up against an experienced sniper, they had three to four seconds at best.

The Huntresses had reacted as well: they had gathered close around Robyn, shielding their commander with their own bodies. All three had their MP5s out, but could not see what to shoot at, especially when the lights suddenly snapped back on, blinding them. Marrow had reached the stage, only to be knocked down when one of the crowd barreled into him.

"There!" Fiona pointed; she had seen the brief flash of light on the scope, and another flash as the sniper fired. She had less than a second to realize that the rifle was aimed directly at her. The impact took her in the left side of her chest and spun her around; she fell, taking down May with her. Both their MP5s went flying off the stage, to land in front of Marrow.

Suddenly Robyn was exposed.

" _Robyn!"_ Penny screamed, and threw herself at the other woman. Her muscles—enhanced to better handle G-forces—gave her a much faster and longer jump. It was just enough: Penny slammed into Robyn and knocked her to the stage as a bullet went past her, so close Robyn could feel it touch strands of her hair. It hit the stage and ricocheted upwards, nearly hitting Joanna before spending itself.

Marrow grabbed one of the MP5s as Ruby slid forward in a baseball slide and grabbed the other. She saw the scope glint again and didn't hesitate: she raised the submachinegun up and opened fire. Marrow joined in a second later. Their shots echoed around the square, making the guns sound far more powerful than they were. She didn't know if the MP5s had the range to reach the sniper, but they would certainly give him something to think about. Her gamble paid off: Ruby saw the figure behind the rifle suddenly leap up and jump away. She couldn't tell if the figure still had the weapon, and there was something strange about the person's shape. _Is that...a tail?_

It would have to wait. "Cease fire!" she ordered Marrow, who nodded and stopped. They climbed up onto the stage, quickly joined by Ren and Nora; the latter had found a policeman's club and was carrying it—it would do no good, but it made Nora feel better. "I'll cover you. Check on them." Ruby kept her eyes on the sniper's perch. Marrow slung the submachinegun and crossed over to Robyn, Penny and the Huntresses.

Fiona was lying on the stage, eyes closed, but Marrow could see she was still breathing; blood slowly began to stain her shirt. May shook her head, trying to clear it; she had landed hard when Fiona had accidentally tackled her. Robyn was gasping for breath and Penny, who got off of her, looked at her in alarm. "I'm…okay…" the Huntress leader struggled out. "Got…wind…knocked out…"

Fiona suddenly opened her eyes, gasped, and tried to sit up; her gasp turned into an exclamation of pain. "Stay down!" Marrow told her. "You're hit."

"Yeah, I know…" Fiona lay back down, her hands going to her left side. Joanna dropped down next to her and tore open Fiona's shirt. Beneath was a flak jacket; Marrow saw that the bullet had gone through it, between the Kevlar, but it had still managed to slow it down. He helped Joanna get the jacket off: the shot had lodged in Fiona's side. The bleeding was serious, but not fatal. "Think I might have a busted rib," she groaned.

"Okay, I'll keep pressure on it—" Marrow began.

Joanna shoved him. " _Get away from her!_ For all I know, this was one of _your_ people!"

"That's crazy!" Marrow yelled. "Why the hell would we do this?"

"Just get away, asshole!"

Police and ambulance sirens were approaching. Ruby, satisfied that the sniper was gone, got to her feet, looked around, and wished she hadn't. Four people had been shot, three civilians and one policeman, but she counted at least five more corpses—people trampled in the panic—and others were moaning, trying to get up. None of those shot were moving: every hit had been a kill shot. The police at the square were moving out of cover, just as shocked at the sudden attack.

Robyn finally got her breath. She waved off Penny's attempt to help. "Thanks, kid," she said. "Now you need to get out of here—all of you." She looked at Ruby. "When the cops figure out what just happened, they're not going to be too picky about who they arrest. My bunch is safe, but you're not—especially you, Penny. You're wearing that flight suit."

"But we had nothing to do with it!" Marrow protested.

"You think they're going to care, Wags? All they know is that one of their own just got zapped by a sniper, and they're going to see Penny in a military outfit! They'll figure it out eventually, but not after throwing the lot of you in jail!" She pointed towards the alleyways behind the stage. "Now get going, and—well, _shit._ "

Ruby followed her gaze. The television screen was still working. It showed the vote tally: 51% to 49%, for Jacques Schnee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I'd forgotten about the Moisin-Nagant, did you? 
> 
> Keep those reviews coming-I like to know what (and if) I'm doing a good job.


End file.
